Deployment
by Kataraang0
Summary: John is deployed and Molly Hooper is put in charge of Sherlock. Who knows what sort of Sherlolly shall ensue? First chapter fanfic!
1. Prologue

A month or so after the bomb at the pool.

Moriarty had not been found.

No cases of great interest had come up.

Sherlock was getting bored.

He didn't realize, of course, that an event more captivating and time consuming than anything he had ever done was about to occur…

* * *

"_What?_" Sherlock couldn't help himself from showing some emotion and asking a completely illogical question. Although he could hear and he had heard what John had just told him and it wasn't too shocking considering John's demeanour as he slogged into the room, the news turned out to be completely unbearable.

"I'm being deployed to Iraq. I'm surprised I had to say that twice. Do you need your hearing checked?" John chuckled, very weakly, and finished his teasing. The transition was going to be rough for him as well.

Sherlock tensed and felt very cold, calmed himself, then sat down slowly on the couch. He was quiet for a moment, his hands clenching, then unclenching, then clenching again as his mind processed the information. His hard drive was unexpectedly slow.

"How long?" the machine was finally able to emit from its speaker.

"I have training all of next week, and two weeks after that I'm gone."

"How long?" the machine asked again.

"I'm not sure. Possibly, six months."

If Sherlock had been drinking anything, he had the slight notion that he might have spat it out, that or paused and felt it slide down his throat in silence. The recently acquired feeling of worry and concern swept over him.

His throat felt dry and he swallowed before he spoke, "What will you be doing?"

"My job." his friend answered.


	2. Aeroplane

The day had come.

The day that Sherlock knew would come at last had come.

John Watson was leaving.

They were in the aeroport; himself, John, Sarah, and Molly.

John had sent for Molly. He knew that she had been going through a very difficult time with the Moriarty affair, and now that he was leaving, John didn't want Sherlock to be alone. Of course, the detective would have Mrs Hudson, but John had the idea that her company wouldn't be enough to keep Sherlock grounded. Besides, Molly knew what it was like to feel alone, and although Sherlock didn't care much about emotions, John felt sure that Molly would help him in the time to come.

He remembered the day he asked her quite vividly. He had gone to Molly's house as she still had leave from the Moriarty affair (it would end in a week).

"Molly?"

The petite mortician looked up, surprised to see John by himself and at her doorstep. How did he know where she lived? "Yes, Mr. Watson?"

"John, please. Um, I'm being deployed soon, so I was wondering if you could keep an eye on Sherlock for me. If that's alright with you. I understand you're going through a troubling time right now..."

"No, it's fine. I've been getting quite bored out here anyway. I mean, if it's helping you and Sherlock to catch Moriarty."

"Great. Thank you. Be sure to keep a close eye on him."

"Be sure to keep updating your blog. And don't die, of course."

Molly's last comment was quite comforting despite the tactlessness of it. It was certainly a very Molly thing to say.

John smiled as he turned his attention back to the aeroport.

It was silent. There was still noise, but as far as the four man party was concerned, it was dead silent.

And slightly awkward.

Finally, the announcement of John's flight having to board broke the silence.

John shook hands with Molly.

"Goodbye, John Watson."

John kissed Sarah goodbye.

"I love you, John."

John held his hand out to Sherlock.

Sherlock suddenly wasn't sure how he wanted to say goodbye, so he simply took John's hand firmly in his and said, "Be careful, John."

* * *

Day one was boring, yet stressful, as was the rest of the first week and a half.

Not that there weren't cases.

Lestrade still called, because he was quite worried what Sherlock would do with himself and for the obvious reason that he needed the consulting detective's help.

Sherlock just ignored him.

During his free time, this was all his time now, Sherlock thought about the statistics of John's survival. The risks were relatively low, but at the same time far too high.

The risks are always far too high when a loved one is anywhere near dying.

Sherlock thought about how he had put John through a lot of trouble and risks of dying and he supposed that the only reason he was overly worried now was because John was somewhere Sherlock could not see him.

He wished he had said a better goodbye.

* * *

Molly woke up very early the next morning from a terrible nightmare and realized that she was out of milk. She also realized, as she shivered, that her heating was not working. There was a sort of pang in her heart, as she thought of the heat of Iraq that her new acquaintance, John Watson, must have been enduring. He wasn't a friend to her yet, although she hoped that someday he would be. From what she knew of him, he was a very kind, loyal, brave man and Sherlock valued him more than anything, which certainly earned the doctor some points. Molly felt another pang as she wondered how many points _she_ had earned from the detective.

Molly got out of bed with the intention of going to the store. She ended up at 221B. _Well, _she thought, _John _did _tell me to keep a close eye on Sherlock._ She timidly rapped the knocker.

Now, neither of the women knew each other, although Molly had heard about the landlady from snippets of Sherlock's and John's conversations, so they were quite surprised when Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Um, good morning, miss." Molly began, "I'm a...colleague of Sherlock and John. John Watson asked me to keep an eye on Sherlock while he was away."

"Oh. Yes!" said Mrs Hudson, "John told me to expect you. Come in, come in!"

Molly's stomach growled, which was quite tactless, and she repeatedly told Mrs Hudson that she really didn't need to make her any breakfast as she was going shopping as soon as she was finished there. Mrs Hudson wouldn't listen and told Molly that she had already been in the process of making breakfast and she doubted Sherlock would eat it anyway. So, Molly ate her breakfast, after a gracious thank you to her host, in silence. Then, she heard Sherlock's violin.

It was a melancholy tune and Molly decided that, no matter what people said, Sherlock did have feelings, and, even if he would never tell, he was feeling quite lonely at present.

Mrs Hudson seemed to agree with her as she said, "The poor fellow."

Molly finished her breakfast and sat listening to the violin and thinking that it would be quite rude to burst in on Sherlock when he was in one of his rare moments of expression.

Molly waited until the violin stopped and was quite curious as to what Sherlock was doing now. She had come to check on him, and thought this to be the best opportunity.

Sherlock was sprawled on the couch in the living room of 221B. He sat up slowly as Molly entered the room. H sighed, clearly not wanting to see her, and took a glance at the day's paper. He picked the paper up and trudged into the kitchen. Molly hesitated, and then trailed after him. She was supposed to keep an eye on him after all. She wondered if he had been eating.

As expected, Sherlock was not making breakfast. He was staring at the paper. _Probably the obituaries_, Molly thought and her hand curled into a fist. She looked around as Sherlock's eyes scanned the page and wondered why he had come into the kitchen at all. She noticed the chemistry set on the table, but it hadn't been touched for days. She scanned the microwave and saw that the rumoured eyes were now gone. She felt someone's gaze on her and turned just in time to hear him ask, "What are you doing here, Molly?"

She was a bit startled at first, but managed to get out, "I'm keeping a close eye on you."

"Look, I know John told you to, but I'm certain he didn't mean this close of an eye."

Molly frowned slightly. "Alright. Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were staying in at least relatively good health and hadn't blown anything up."

Sherlock just stared at her, so she continued, "Listen-"

"I am."

"Okay. There are people out there who actually care about you and your wellbeing, so please, if you're not eating, start to do so. And continue to not blow things up. If you do it for anyone, at least do it for John Watson. I'm sure he doesn't want to return to a dead Sherlock Holmes."

_If he even returns_. Sherlock couldn't help thinking and his eyes widened a fraction of a millimetre. Sherlock picked a piece of scrambled egg off the plate Molly had brought upstairs and laboriously swallowed it. He thought it tasted like rubber. But then, he never liked scrambled eggs.

"Okay." Molly said as she set the plate down on a countertop, "Good." She left the room with a small grin. This was a start.


	3. Phobias

Molly returned the next day.

As she walked up the stairs, she smelled smoke and coughed. She started running and didn't stop until she reached the living room.

"What are you doing?" she yelled, surprised at her courage. The smoke was everywhere and Molly could barely make out that he was there, but she knew that he was. Sherlock was sitting in a chair and, she noticed as she waved her hand in front of her face, he was holding a test tube.

"Experimenting. I was seeing how potassium nitrate, sulphur, charcoal, and wood dust affected your vision. And if it affected your hearing. As suspected, it didn't do much to the hearing, but, as you can see, the smoke is very white and blocks one's vision quite sufficiently."

Molly stared at the lunatic in front of her. He probably hadn't been eating and she could tell, since he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and his hair was dishevelled, that he hadn't been sleeping either.

"It was part of a case Lestrade wanted me for."

"One of the cases you didn't take?"

"I was busy."

Molly sighed and shook her head, "Mrs Hudson, and John I'm sure, would like you to eat. And some sleep would be good as well. You're not on a case so you have no excuse."

"That's not entirely true," Sherlock said as he brought the test tube into the kitchen and Molly opened a window, "There is far, far too much risk in eating. So much bacteria and poisoning. Not to mention the parasites that get into livestock. Food just isn't safe."

"Y-You're scared of food?"

"No. I just explained why I don't eat in the simplest terms possible. I'm not _afraid_ of food."

"Okay." Molly hesitated, then asked another question, "If that's the reason you don't eat, why don't you sleep?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Are you afraid of that, too?" Molly paused, thinking of the reasons sleeping would scare Sherlock.

Sherlock fidgeted as he sat on the counter.

Molly gasped with realization, "It's because you feel like you're losing your mind. You feel like you've lost control of it. The way the darkness and exhaustion closes in and your brain slowly loses focus - "

"First of all, I don't feel. Secondly, that's not true. I just don't get tired." Sherlock lied. He wondered how Molly could be so perceptive of people's feelings, feelings he himself didn't even seem to understand.

Molly smirked at him and yawned, purposefully. Sherlock's mouth seemed as if it was about to maybe, slightly open, but he was most likely used to not yawning and it stayed shut. She wondered, as she thought of the new case Sherlock had been experimenting about, yet another one he hadn't taken because he was "busy", if she should be more concerned with Sherlock's wellbeing or the public's. As for the moment, she decided to lean a little toward Sherlock's side.

Sherlock got up and started searching for the paper. Molly took her copy out from her coat pocket (she had picked it up on her way out and had been reading it on the way) and handed it to him. He snatched it from her, not uttering a word of gratitude, and flipped through the pages until he came to the obituaries.

"You know," Molly said after a moment of silence, "If anything...happens...they'll notify you."

Sherlock was silent, and he tried in vain to not tighten his grip on the paper.

"If it makes you feel any better..."

"I don't feel."

"Okay. Well, I'm here if you need anything." she paused again, and dared to give Sherlock some advice, "I think you should start up a case. Maybe it will help your nerves." Molly paused and kept herself from hyperventilating.

She could have sworn she heard Sherlock mutter, "Thank you, Molly." as she turned and left the flat.

* * *

Molly had been thinking about Jim. Moriarty. The criminal mastermind that she had actually fallen for. The man who wanted to kill Sherlock and John. How could she have been so blind? She felt a tear slide down her cheek. She hadn't thought about this particular event for at least a week and thought that by now she had cried all of her tears. Molly was very tired and was curled in a helpless, tiny ball on her bed. She was tired of being helpless, but she didn't know what to do. How to start not being helpless. How to start using her knowledge well, _really _well. How to show people that she wasn't completely naive and that she actually knew some things. How to start being herself.

She sighed as another tear slid down her cheek. There was a knock on the door. Molly froze and felt her tear glide slowly across her petrified face. Who in the world could that be? She went over and opened the door.

"Yes?" she asked as she hurriedly wiped her eyes.

"I'm bored." The tall, dark haired man answered.

That was it? Why would Sherlock come all the way to her apartment to tell her he was bored? He must be very energetic. Molly decided that she was glad she had called in sick.

"Mrs Hudson couldn't hear me and I got bored of talking to my skull. Usually, John is in closer hearing range, but seeing as he's not there...Well, anyway, I decided to go for a walk."

Molly blinked as Sherlock looked off to the side. Luckily, before the silence got embarrassingly lengthy, she noticed a fresh injection mark on Sherlock's arm. Molly suddenly realized that he had been talking faster than usual. She looked at his eyes. He was blinking furiously, possibly on the brink of tears, but much more likely to hide his dilated pupils.

"Sherlock..." Molly croaked as a new lump appeared in her throat, she coughed, "You idiot!"

Molly slapped him. He deserved it, after all. Taking drugs just because he was bored? Sherlock continued blinking as he brought his shaking hand up to his cheek. She continued.

"You could die, you know that? Every time you take that drug, no matter how careful you are. And why? When John was here did you take cocaine? No! Why? Because he's your friend! He cares about you and you care about him. You care that he cares. Just because he's not here doesn't mean you can go back to your old habits! Do you really think he'll want to live with you anymore? With a druggy?"

It was silent for a moment. Molly knew that, even if the effect was wearing off, Sherlock's brain would be working even faster than regular and so the only explanation of his silence was that he had actually heard and _understood _her. _Or, maybe not_, she thought as he pulled his phone from his coat pocket. Now Molly was quite confused about the drugs. Although, when she thought about it later, she figured it might be so that he wouldn't sleep and possibly to keep any hunger pains at bay.

Sherlock held up his phone to Molly.

The screen showed a text from Lestrade and he had a case.

**Right. This has nothing to do with the chapter, but is relatively important if you read the Sherlock Holmes books by Conan Doyle. Watson's wife dies between **_**The Final Problem **_**and **_**The Empty House**_**. I didn't realize this until yesterday (I'm on **_**The Valley of Fear**_**, so this info would have been nice to know). Anyway, it's only lightly implied, so for those of you who want to know, there it is.**


	4. Observation

Sherlock said that he hadn't wanted to go, but Molly decided to officially give her allegiance to the public. Not to mention that he was lying, and as she had suggested the day before, a case would probably take Sherlock's mind off of drugs and possibly off of John.

They took a cab to an apartment halfway across London. It had been a murder of a twenty-one year old woman. The apartment was her friend's and this friend had called the police as soon as she had come home from shopping and noticed the corpse in the middle of her living room.

They were now on the scene. Sherlock sensed Molly's anxiousness to be helpful. He turned to her and said, "Would you like to have a go?"

Lestrade was about to protest, but Molly was already on her hands and knees, scrutinizing the body. Sherlock watched her with some interest and wondered to himself why he had let her examine the body before himself. _Well_, he thought, _it _was _her idea to come._

Molly stood up. "It seems to have been a rape, considering the awkward position of her underwear. Her right wrist is broken, shoulder dislocated. Her forehead is bent in and there was excessive bleeding, but the murder wasn't committed here. There aren't any deep blood marks on the carpet. The wall, which would be more likely since the murderer, who we can assume is a he, needed to smash her head in on something hard and was holding her in an arm lock, has no blood on it at all. The woman was dragged into her friend's apartment between 1630 and 1700, 1630 being the approximate time of death and 1700 being the time her friend returned from shopping. So, the question that should be asked is, why would the murderer bring her in here? Possibly to lead us to this apartment, more likely because he needed to hide the body, but why here and in plain sight and how did he know to come here? I wonder if the door was unlocked. Either way, it seems highly unlikely that he would just so happen to leave the body in a friend's house. The murderer was probably following this friend. It could be a warning to this friend or-"

Sherlock slapped his hand over her mouth. "That," he cleared his throat, "That's my job."

Molly rubbed her mouth as she answered, "I'm certain I haven't deduced everything. Probably not even very much at all. Besides, you said I could."

Sherlock was now looking over the body. "Actually, you've deduced quite a bit, but you are right about it not being everything." he said, with a tone of superiority, ignoring her last comment.

* * *

It turned out that the murderer was indeed following the victim and her friend. The women both worked at Bart's, although Molly hadn't recognized them. They worked on one of the top floors with NICU (the mortuary was in the basement for obvious reasons). She wondered if Jim had ever mentioned them. Probably not, they weren't important to his master plan.

"The murdered woman was wearing a mini skirt and a blouse, so it was probably a day off as it isn't the weekend." Sherlock said.

Molly confirmed Sherlock's inference by saying that it had, indeed been a day off, it was the Late Summer Bank Holiday.

As the two of them stepped onto the street, they passed Anderson and Donovan, who couldn't help but antagonize the consulting detective.

"Hey, Freak! Heard you were on the chang again. I thought you were looking a little queer."

"Aw," Anderson added, "Is nancyboy really missing his boyfriend?"

Molly tried very hard to ignore them and force her hand to stay by her side instead of slipping into Sherlock's, which would only cause more trouble. Sherlock didn't say anything, not even a snide remark to Sally, as they stepped into the cab.

"Sherlock," Molly asked when the doors were closed and they were on their way, "Why didn't you say anything?"

He scoffed, "You honestly think I care about what they say? Besides, it is true. I do miss John."

Molly was silent.

She decided that she was right about not holding Sherlock's hand.

**Who knew Molly was so observant? I'm a total British wannabe, so I'm sorry if the terminology's off. Hope you liked it anyway. BTW this is NOT slash. Trust me on this! Also, sorry if Sherlock's OOC. R&R! Also, I forgot to mention that I borrowed the ideas of Sherlock's phobias (Chapter 2, Phobias) from **_**Cibophobia **_**by Lucifel and **_**Somniphobia**_** by thisprettywren. **


	5. Apprehension

It had been several days since the case started and Sherlock still hadn't caught the murderer. Molly had been at work because she had to be, although Sherlock had seemed slightly agitated at the idea of not having an assistant.

She was thinking about going to Sherlock's flat, but decided to stop off at hers first. After all, she had to feed Toby and she thought she could do with a nap. Helping Sherlock with cases could certainly be trying. She hadn't slept since the start of the case. Sherlock wouldn't let her since he "needed" her to confirm his facts and ideas. An outside opinion was very helpful, apparently.

Molly opened the door. She yawned and looked down.

There was a dead body on the floor.

Now, Molly was used to seeing dead bodies, but she recognized this body. It was the murdered woman's friend.

Sherlock had agreed with Molly that the dead body had been a message the first time. Molly thought the position of the woman was suspiciously similar to that of her friend's. Molly was about to kneel down for a closer look when a noise caught her attention.

It wasn't her cat, it had been too loud. Where was her cat, anyway?

Before the thought was fully formed, the large hand of a man covered her mouth. Molly tried to scream, but as was the purpose of the hand over the mouth, it came out very muffled.

Molly struggled as the man grabbed her wrist and put her in an arm lock. The man's grip was strong and, as Molly continued to struggle, it tightened.

Suddenly, as the man's fingers uncurled slightly to touch her in a place that they certainly shouldn't be, Molly remembered that she knew tae kwon do. She quickly broke from the man's grasp, as he had become slightly distracted, and ran.

Molly ran out of the apartment and down the street. She kept running, as fast as she could, and she could hear the man following. She wondered why no one was stopping him. _He could be shoving everyone out of his way even if they are trying to stop him_, Molly thought, but she didn't dare to look back. The man had reached out a hand and grabbed her shirt. Molly would have screamed, but the running took most of her breath. Molly broke away.

She ran all the way to Baker Street. At the door of 221B, she wondered absently why the man hadn't stopped following her, as it was a useless effort now.

Molly yanked open the door and was about to close it, but the man was closer than she thought and he shoved the door open. The shove forced Molly back and she stumbled on the stairs. Her wrist was throbbing and she realized that it was most likely broken.

She screamed.

Mrs Hudson was out and Molly felt tears slide down her face. She scrambled up but by then the man had caught her by the broken wrist. Molly yelped and struggled to pull away. More tears slid down her face as the pain of her wrist pulsated through her arm. The man pulled her up into a disturbing embrace. Molly thought that his breathing sounded just like the stereotypical stalker on the telephone voice and she screamed again.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head as the man's face got closer to hers.

Suddenly, there was a noise from above and Molly dared to look up.

She found the strength to pull back and kick her pursuer in his naughty bits. He sunk to the floor in agony as Molly ran up to the landing.

Sherlock rushed past her and pinned the man down. "Molly," he said, quite calmly, "Go upstairs and call Lestrade. We've found our man."

* * *

They were in the emergency room, much to Sherlock's dismay. If John were there, he could have fixed Molly's arm. He sighed and clenched his fists as he sat in the seat next to Molly. He closed his eyes and hoped, almost prayed, that no one would talk to him.

"You know, you didn't have to come with me."

Sherlock opened his eyes with a start and turned to the voice. It was only Molly, and Sherlock actually felt comforted by the familiar tones of her voice.

"Yes, I know, but it would be a bit unusual for someone to be in the emergency room by themselves. Besides, I need to tell someone about my deductions."

Molly smiled, but before she could say, "Okay, go." her name was called.

She got up and headed to the examination room.

"Hello, Matthew!" she said as she reached the room.

"Hello, Molly." her friend answered, "Broken wrist, I see?"

"Yes. It's a long story."

They were now in the examination room and Matthew attentively took Molly's wrist and laid it on the examining table. He turned it slightly and Molly winced.

"So, I hear you're watching over Sherlock Holmes now. Is it awkward? I know you had a crush on him and all..."

"I suppose it can be awkward sometimes. It's certainly exciting. And dangerous. I must admit, I hope we get some down time soon."

Matthew chuckled.

"So," he cleared his throat and shifted Molly's wrist again, "Do you still have a crush on him?"

"It's really none of your business." she answered and her cheeks flushed.

"You know," Matthew continued, "I mean, you do realize that he's never going to love you, or even _like_ you, back. Not to mention that he's gay." He cleared his throat again, "I feel, but maybe this is just me, that you should find someone else. Someone who actually cares about you and will show that they care about you..."

"Oh. Um. Thank you for the advice, Matthew. I think -"

"Actually, I was thinking, um, myself. Maybe. I mean, I was wondering if you would like to go out with me sometime..."

Molly paused, then said, "Well, um, I don't know when I'll be available and..."

"Right. Okay. Just, promise me that you will forget about Sherlock Holmes."

Molly sighed, "Okay."

Her fingers were crossed.

**I am an American British wannabe who lives in Europe and speaks French. Matthew's just like the guy who likes Soo Lin. He's not that guy nor did I intend to make him similar, I just think it's amusing that they are, indeed, similar. Random thing: Did you realize (if you've seen the pilot) that in the pilot, Sherlock says, "Ah, coffee. Thank you, Molly." But in the first episode, he says, "Ah, Molly. Coffee, thank you." So, in the pilot, Molly's an afterthought, and in the actual first episode, coffee's an afterthought.**


	6. Deduction

Sherlock deduced the conversation as Molly came out to the casting area.

It was obvious, the way she and Matthew glanced at him, that they had been talking about him. The way Matthew glanced at her said that he liked her and was probably worried about her. From the way they had greeted each other, it was clear they were friends. They both worked at Bart's and had probably gone to school together. Sherlock surmised that, since he was a close friend, Matthew probably knew that Molly liked him (Sherlock). Molly was blushing and seemed a bit nervous, something Sherlock had been happy to do without, but it showed that she had had a bit of an awkward conversation. Matthew had most likely asked her out. Since Matthew had a crush on Molly and they had just been discussing Sherlock, Sherlock guessed that Matthew had told her to stay away from him because of obvious reasons. And the fact that Matthew was jealous of him. Sherlock scoffed at the idea.

"What?" Molly inquired of the scoff.

Sherlock turned to her, his face serious again, "He's right you know."

"How-"

"You and John. You both envision people to be more than what they are, and then you're disappointed. I suggest that you stop making me your hero and start accepting who I really am before you get even more disappointed. Your friend, Matthew was it?, was certainly right that you shouldn't be infatuated with me. I'm never going to reciprocate your feelings. You deserve someone who can."

Molly felt angry, what one would call denial. This was not what she had wanted to hear. However, some new instinct kicked in, and she let out a shaking breath and said, "What was your theory?"

Sherlock glanced at her. This was not what he had expected. He had expected her to yell at him or run out of the room from anger, or sorrow, or frustration, or possibly even hit him again. She hadn't done any of those things, and he felt slightly apprehensive, since he would have preferred to deal with Molly's anger sooner than later.

"Sorry?"

"About the case."

"Oh. Yes. I knew from the beginning that the criminal was sponsored by Moriarty, which is one of the reasons I took the case. As you most likely observed, all of the women he murdered were from Bart's. Perhaps Moriarty had something against all of the victims, or perhaps he wanted it to seem like he did to get at one of them specifically."

"What do you mean?"

"You." Sherlock said, pointing at her, "He has something against you. Did you do something that went against his plans?"

Molly gulped. "Yes," she said, "I – that is, he forced me to be one of his snipers. I pointed a gun at you in the pool. I'm sorry. But I didn't shoot and I got away just before the bomb went off and you jumped into the pool."

Sherlock was silent, his hands steepled. "Clearly. So, I was correct. I didn't realize you were one of the snipers, though. Quite interesting."

"Please continue with your theory!" Molly said, a bit faster and louder than she had intended.

"Right. Since each of the murders was a message, the last one, being you, was meant to be a threat to both of us. To you, obviously because you would be dead. To me, because Moriarty knew you would run to 221B when you were in trouble. Therefore, since your murder would have ensued there, it would have been a threat to me."

"What is he going to do next?" Molly asked anxiously.

Sherlock paused.

"I don't know." he admitted.

_And that's the worst part_, he thought. _Not knowing._

**Look how nice I am! I just gave you a chapter in less than a week! So, I have most of the story done (15 chapters), I just post one chappie a week, so I'm being nice this week. **

**I just realized that I haven't put that I don't own Sherlock. Well, I don't own Sherlock. BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat do. I think it's kind of funny that we even have to put this. It's a fanfiction site. We don't own most of the stuff we write about.**


	7. God

**WARNING: This chapter may seem slightly controversial. I don't mean to offend, and it's really not **_**that**_** controversial, so I encourage you to read it anyway.**

Molly stopped by the next day.

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock said.

"Hello, Sherlock," Molly said, "I just came to check on you and to see if Mrs Hudson wanted to come with me. She's asleep though."

"Well, it is only 0730. Where are you going?" Sherlock was lost for a minute. He figured, _It's Sunday. It's early. I didn't realize Molly was Christian, the logical explanation being that she's going to church. She is wearing nicer clothing than usual. I didn't realize they had services this early. Oh. _He remembered, _She's Catholic._

"I'm going..."

"To church. A Catholic Mass, am I correct?"

"Yes. Why did you ask?"

Sherlock was silent.

"Well," Molly hesitated, "Do you want to come?"

Sherlock shifted on the couch and Molly caught a slight glimpse of an empty syringe between the cushions.

"Sherlock. I thought we already agreed that you weren't going to take cocaine anymore."

Sherlock turned his head to stare at the syringe. Then he turned his attention back to Molly, "It's not cocaine. It's morphine."

"Either way!"

"I was tired!"

Molly stared at him, surprised by his sudden confession. His eyes were red rimmed and he looked paler than usual. It was a good thing she had e-mailed John the day before.

"You're coming with me."

* * *

And so, Sherlock was sitting next to Molly in the midst of a devout congregation of Catholics in a quaint little church.

They were singing and everyone was standing.

Presently, the readings started and, as she glanced at him, Molly found Sherlock thinking quite seriously about what they said. Or he could have been scrutinizing the priest. Not that there was anything wrong with the priest.

Sherlock thought the readings were quite interesting. Between the first and second readings, Sherlock gazed around while the Responsorial Psalm was sung and let his mind fade a bit into the light coming from the stain glass windows. The Gospel reading was very interesting and Sherlock could see how it made people want to follow a Divine Being. They were full of hope and security. That's what Sherlock felt inside the church. He admitted to himself, after the initial sense of panic, that the feelings were welcome and comforting.

After the gospel, which spoke about Jesus, the Catholic Divine Being on Earth, came the homily. Sherlock sat listening intently, then stood. He wanted to ask the priest some questions.

Molly hid her face in her hands, _I don't know this man, I don't know this man, I don't know this man._

Fairly soon, though, Sherlock was seated again. Molly had missed their conversation and wondered what they had discussed.

Sherlock stayed seated, deep in thought from the Creed to the Eucharist all the way until the last hymn. He stood up next to Molly and peered over her shoulder into the missal. Molly held it out so he could see the words better. Molly wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Sherlock humming.

After church, Sherlock and Molly strolled back to Baker Street.

"I didn't know you could sing." Sherlock said.

"I didn't know you could sing either." Molly answered.

"I didn't sing."

"But you hummed. And you hummed on pitch. Therefore, I think it's safe to assume you can sing. We'll have to sing carols when Christmas comes around. You can learn some songs on your violin."

"That's not a bad idea, I suppose." Sherlock was silent for a moment, his face one of ambiguity, "You know," he said very quietly, "I don't think I mind believing in a God."

"Really?"

"After all, it's the only logical explanation of all the facts of creation and it's certainly comforting knowing that when I die I'll have somewhere to go to. Besides, I don't believe the world is ruled by chance. There is definitely enough scientific evidence to prove against that. And, most importantly, it means that all my hard work of avenging people's deaths will mean something in the end."

After a while, Molly said, "That's a very good observation, Sherlock. You know what I think? I think science is just a way of explaining how God works."

"That's a logical way to look at it." Sherlock said.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." They were now at 221B and Molly turned to leave.

"Molly?"

She turned back, "Yes, Sherlock?"

He hesitated.

"Can we go again?"

She smiled, "Next week, Sherlock." Then she giggled.

"What?" Sherlock asked, a hint of surprise crossing his features.

"Nothing. It's just, usually the boy walks the girl home. See you tomorrow, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled faintly as he watched his companion fade into the crowd.

**No dissing of the Catholics! That would be me! Anyhow, hope you like the chapter!**


	8. Irene Adler

Sherlock opened his eyes.

He didn't recall falling asleep.

He stood up quickly. A little too quickly. His head spun and his vision whited out. He sat back down and shook his head.

"Hello, Sherlock. Long time no see. Did you have a nice nap?"

Sherlock looked up at the woman in the corner. He most certainly recognized her, although it took him a moment to remember. This woman had been in his extracurricular martial arts class at Uni. She had dark brown hair and full lips and Sherlock remembered the way she used to come to him to fulfil her more amorous needs. He remembered that he had hated her, but was so confused by her that he found her to be a challenge. So, in a way, he had liked her.

Not loved, though. She wasn't even his friend.

"Hello, Irene." Sherlock said, with a tinge of anger.

"Not happy to see me? I thought for sure you would be." she almost pouted in her distinct American accent.

She started walking toward him, and he was about to get up when she said, "Really, Sherlock. I'm just trying to deliver a message."

She bent down in front of his face and he could feel her breath.

Suddenly, her lips were pressed against his and he noticed that she had changed her chapstick flavour since the last time. He was about to mention it, but seeing as "the last time" had been when they were in university and the pressure of her lips was keeping him from saying anything, he kept the thought in his head.

Sherlock continued at his attempt to analyze and deduct what Irene had been up to recently, but felt some sort of old emotion awakened in him, and his mind became fairly jumbled. He had been pushed down so he was lying on the couch, Irene straddling him.

Although his mind was muddled, Sherlock refused to be controlled and kept his eyes and ears open to the best of his capability in the situation. He really would not have minded having a conversation with Irene instead of this awkward and sudden...reunion. She had stopped kissing him and almost gasped in her effort to get more air. _Yes_, he decided as she kissed him again, not allowing him to say anything, _I certainly wouldn't have minded a _proper _chat._

Sherlock's ears pricked up as he heard a door open downstairs.

He felt compelled to yell out to the newcomer. He would have liked it if someone could wrench Irene off of him as the unwanted attention was becoming quite exasperating.

Sherlock fixed his eyes on the door. It opened and Molly almost dropped her package.

"Um...uh," she said, but was quite unable to get much more out besides, "S-sorry." She ran back downstairs.

_Dammit_. Sherlock thought. He really wished Molly was in the room instead of Irene, partly because she wouldn't be snogging him and partly because he had quite gotten used to her company. Not to mention that in this situation...actually, no, as proven, John would be the one to wrench Irene off of him. He wished John was there, too.

Irene had apparently finished kissing him, and lowered herself down so she was lying on top of him. Sherlock's hips twitched under the pressure and Irene grinned.

"Maybe next time." she said, walking her fingers up Sherlock's chest. Sherlock wanted to punch her; this was just disgraceful. He knew that she was working with a higher brand of criminal class as of late, otherwise she wouldn't have given him this "message" at such a random time, and other than that fact, she was simply a nuisance. He decided that he really didn't like her.

"Was that the message?"

"Mm. Most of it. It's so delightful, keeping you in suspense. But, as I'm sure you know, it can get very boring. Start looking out for clues."

Irene Adler put two fingers to Sherlock Holmes' lips as a farewell, got up, and traipsed out of the room.

Sherlock couldn't help but notice that she had a very...feminine anatomy.

_Damn her, _he thought, _Damn her straight to hell._

**Well, that was interesting, to say the least. I hope you liked it! Who knows, maybe we'll see Irene again...Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, by the way! **

**Oh! I had this thought the other day (it won't happen in this story, but I was just thinking) what if Molly becomes Irene? Because, you know, she's mad at Sherlock the last time she sees him, she's been in league with Moriarty (whether she knew it or not), and she just got dumped by the aforementioned evil criminal mastermind. I could totally see her wreaking revenge in an Irene sort of way. That would be such a cool twist!**


	9. Reckoning

The next day, Matthew returned with another proposal.

Molly accepted.

It wasn't entirely because of the awkward scene she had witnessed the day before, _Does this mean Sherlock's bi? Ugh! He's so confusing. Anyway, it doesn't matter_, she realized, because Matthew and Sherlock were right.

Sherlock would never reciprocate her feelings.

It made Molly sad to admit it, but Matthew was a kind guy. Molly hesitated before she opened her apartment door to venture to the park with her new date.

_Even if Sherlock will never love me, does that mean I should go out with someone else? _she thought, _I mean, what if he ends up being like...No. The only person even remotely similar to Jim would be..._

_Sherlock._

Her grip tightened on the handle and she decided to focus the hurt and anger towards acting nervous. Yes, she would act. For now. Who knew if her friendship with Matthew wouldn't grow into something more?

She opened the door.

"Hello, Molly!"Matthew said brightly. He seemed happy. A little _too_ happy. And Molly hated it. She felt like she was using him, which felt wrong because using people is wrong, but also, she knew how it felt to be used. She suddenly felt very sorry for Matthew.

"Hello." she said, slightly unconvincing, but, either he knew that she was using him because she was spiteful, or because Matthew wasn't going to let her dampen the mood, or possibly because he just didn't notice, Matthew went on.

He saw that she was about the break into tears, and spoke before she got the chance, "Do you have rollerblades?"

"Um, yeah. I do. But I – "

"Good." Matthew cut her off, "Go get them, if you wouldn't mind, and we'll be on our way." He was determined to make her feel better.

* * *

It was a very beautiful day and the park goers all seemed as cheerful as Matthew.

Molly had decided to put Sherlock out of her mind. She was determined, as she realized Matthew was, to have a good time. Not to mention that she still felt bad about using him.

She did feel happier, but, as of the exact moment, happiness had turned to fear and anxiety. She wobbled on the row of wheels and almost fell. Matthew caught her.

"I didn't realize you hadn't learned."

"Well," Molly said in a shaky voice as she stood up and tried to balance on her rollerblades again, "You didn't exactly give me the chance to say so." She wobbled again and Matthew caught her again.

He chuckled. "Here, let me help you."

And so, the day consisted of balancing and wobbling and falling and catching, but finally, Molly was starting to get it. After a nice break of ice cream, they made a route for a racing course. They rollerbladed all through the park and just before they were going for another round (Molly was beginning to get quite excited and was determined to win a race against Matthew) Matthew's phone rang.

"Unfortunately," he said with a flair of drama that made Molly giggle, "Our plans for racing, and for dinner, have been cancelled as I am needed in the emergency room. And so, mademoiselle, I will be happy to escort you home."

He bowed and Molly curtsied. They laughed and Molly felt happier than...actually she couldn't remember the last time she felt this happy.

They rollerbladed back to Molly's apartment (Molly did end up beating Matthew, but he said it was because he went easy on her) and Matthew left her, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Molly blushed and fairly squeed as she went into her apartment. Her cat, Toby, was waiting for her, as were some messages on her mobile (which she had neglected to take with her).

She read them as Toby bounded gracefully, as only a cat can, onto the countertop.

There was a message from Meena, one of her friends at Bart's, asking if she was doing alright, which reminded her that she had work the next day. Molly texted back, saying that she was doing exceedingly well and would she be happy to have lunch with her? She glanced over the other messages, one from her mother, also asking of her wellbeing, one from her cousin, wishing Molly an early happy birthday, as he was to be out of town for the next three days. _Oh, _Molly thought, _my birthday's in two days._ She wondered if Matthew knew. She hoped he would check his Facebook if he didn't. The last message was from Sherlock.

_I'm bored. Please come. SH. _

Molly was slightly surprised that he had texted her to come. But it didn't matter much anymore. She turned off her phone, not wanting any other texts from Sherlock that were wont to come, and grabbed her cat to waltz through the living room.

It had been a perfect day.


	10. Workingclass

Sherlock remembered that John, for whatever reason, hated Mondays.

It didn't make much sense to Sherlock at first, but he decided that this had carried on from school, when Mondays came up on one suddenly after the weekend and nobody in their right mind really wanted to go back to school but was forced to do so.

After logging onto the computer and checking the date, Sherlock went to John's blog. John hadn't written anything. Whatever was happening over in Iraq must have been extremely boring for John (or perhaps too painful or militarily secret for him to tell), but Sherlock desperately wanted to know what was going on. He felt very, very distant from his friend.

_Please post soon, John. I'm getting bored. SH_.

He hoped this would get his attention.

Now that he had successfully communicated with John and had made sure he wasn't injured or dead (as no one had notified him or Harry about it), Sherlock turned his attention to "the case".

Technically, the case hadn't started yet. As far as Sherlock could see, no clues had been given and there hadn't been a murder or anything such as one would usually find at the beginning of a case.

Sherlock stood up and searched the room one more time to make sure Irene hadn't left him anything. He sighed and ventured into the kitchen, where he had found the mixture, similar to chloroform, Irene had used to drug him. He sniffed loudly. The weather was starting to get chilly with the beginning of fall and Sherlock suspected he might possibly be getting a cold. John would know.

Sherlock sniffed again. How odd. There was a distinctly different smell than usual in the kitchen. Most people wouldn't have noticed as this was where his chemistry set was, so goodness knew what sort of smells came from that room. Sherlock sniffed again following this new scent. It smelled like... Then he found it. A mobile phone. Irene's mobile phone. It was dark red and had the scent of her Parisian perfume on it.

Sherlock eagerly grabbed it and turned it on. Well he tried to. The battery was dead.

Sherlock tried to remember the last place he had left his charger.

Oh.

In his room.

It had been a while since Sherlock had actually been in his room. It was very dark because the curtains were drawn. It smelled slightly of vomit and blood. Yes. He remembered why he never entered this room. He had been a devout druggy in this room not to mention the bulimia episode with the possible tuberculosis that he had dismissed, assuming it to be from his raw throat. He walked slowly to the bedside table where his mobile was along with his charger that was haphazardly plugged into the wall. He pulled it out and picked up his mobile. Both were slightly dusty. _But not dusty enough_, Sherlock realized, _Someone's been in here._

He turned on his own mobile. There was a new message on it. Obviously, whoever Irene was working for had wanted him to get his mobile as they couldn't very well use John's mobile. He surmised that they could have used Molly's, then immediately dismissed the thought.

However, whoever left Irene's phone could call him with her phone. Why would they leave both phones?

Sherlock put Irene's phone on the charger as he read the new message on his own phone.

_Hello, deary. It was so nice to _K_eep you waiting. But as you might have guessed, I was getting bored along with you. Tormenting without John, like with getting blackmail, I imagine. Goodbye, sweetheart._

Moriarty. Obviously. This wasn't much of a clue, simply a threat that obviously hadn't happened. It couldn't have. How and why would Moriarty use blackmail? John was too far away...

Imagine, though . . . Imagine what? Whatever it is he might have blackmailed? Whatever it is he's going to do next?

There was a musical bleep behind Sherlock, saying that Irene's phone was fully charged.

He picked it up and read the messages.

* * *

Molly was having a nice "catching up" lunch with Meena when Sherlock came barging through the cafeteria.

"We need to talk." he said very abruptly.

"Oh. Hello, Sherlock. I can't really right now..."

"It's important."

Molly got up with an exasperated sigh, "Sorry, Meena. I'll be right back."

"What?" she asked when they were safely in the hallway.

"It's about Moriarty. Apparently, he has a date at Buckingham palace. The game is on." Sherlock seemed very excited and Molly admitted that it was nice to see him in his natural habitat once again.

However, she frowned.

"What?" Sherlock asked, "I thought I put it all very simply."

"You did, but I'm not going to be here next week."

"Why not? I need your help."

"I'm going to a Halloween party at Matthew's country home."

"For a whole week?"

"Yes."

Sherlock seemed quite deflated. If it had been John, he would have cancelled his stupid date. This was of national importance, "queen and country".

"I'm supposed to 'protect' him from the neighbour's dog. There's an old family rumour that the Hound of the Baskervilles hunts down and kills the next heir to the estate, which is Matthew."

"But why a whole week?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. Maybe because his uncle just died."

**Sorry about the code, it's slightly off as the phrase "as you might have guessed" is really what Moriarty used, not so much "as might guessed". He was too lazy to make a really good cipher. For anyone too lazy to try the cipher (or didn't get it because it's a really crappy cipher) it was: Keep waiting. As you might have guessed, was getting bored with tormenting John with blackmail. Imagine, sweetheart. I know, pathetic cipher. As always, thanks so much for the wonderful reviews!**


	11. Two Cases

Sherlock was certainly stuck between two cases. He had told Molly to call him if anything got out of hand. He really wanted to be with her, where he didn't have to wait for a case to really begin because he felt sure that Moriarty's date at Buckingham Palace wasn't going to be too soon. However, he wasn't absolutely sure.

There was one highlight to his week and that was opening the package that Molly had brought a few days before (he had almost forgotten about it until Mrs Hudson reminded him). It was full of MREs that John, in his letter, said were perfectly good to eat because they had been chemically enhanced to be wholly disinfected. Sherlock didn't mind chemical enhancement, especially if it was from John and if John said it was safe.

At the end of the note, the word blackmail had been crossed out.

* * *

Baskerville Hall was a very large mansion and very dark. Everything seemed very grey. All of the servants wore black and many of the lights were out. It was just as one would expect during a funeral.

And the perfect place to host a Halloween party.

Matthew tried very hard to contain his excitement and act like he felt sorry for his uncle's recent passing. They hadn't been on very good terms. Molly tried to remember this when she felt Matthew was being exceptionally indecent and disrespectful. She wondered why they hadn't been close as the reason would have helped her agree with Matthew. When she thought this over afterwards, Molly decided that it really would have made her disagree.

They were walking down a long gravel path lined with yew trees with the former Baskerville's friend Dr Mortimer. Molly was questioning him about the death as Sherlock had instructed her to do, not to mention she was quite curious herself. As she listened to the doctor's answers, Molly thought Sherlock would have liked his natural observation skills.

"So he was standing by the gate before he went to his death?" Molly asked.

"Yes. I'd say for about half an hour."

"How do you know?"

"His cigar ash collected where he was standing, over by that gate there. And here, the drizzle hasn't quite washed it away, the man's footprints. You see, they change here so that he is tiptoeing."

Molly bent down to inspect the "tiptoeing".

"I don't think he was tiptoeing, sir. I think he was running. He died from fright, didn't he? Well, whatever scared him made him run from the gate, where he saw the thing on the moor, to where he died."

"Oh. Yes. Of course. And over where he ran and died there are footprints of a giant hound."

"The Hound of the Baskervilles." Matthew pointed out.

"Presumably, yes. Since it's only a story, though, it was probably just a giant mixed breed of a dog. The poor fellow. It must have seemed quite terrifying for anyone in the dim twilight considering just its size. Your uncle was always very paranoid about the legend."

"Yes." Matthew said, "It's a very sad thing."

"Why was Mr Charles Baskerville out here?"

"He habitually took evening strolls. I had prescribed it to him for his terrible stress and paranoia. However, as shown by the amount of time he stood at the gate, he was probably waiting for someone."

"Did he get any messages telling him to wait out here?"

"No. Not that we know of. However, we have found a letter that was sent to him from a Miss L Lyons that had been burned all but for the signature."

Later that evening, Molly sent the information to Sherlock.

She heard something like a dog howling off in the distance.

* * *

"Someone took my boot. Have you seen it, Molly?"

"Hm? No, I haven't."

"Well, then, we must search for it!"

"Ok." The search for a Miss L Lyons would have to wait. At least it would take her mind off the frightening noise.

The two of them were now outside, searching for Matthew's boot. Thank goodness Molly had noticed the light mud marks from where the thief had dropped it on the threshold. Matthew seemed to have quite forgotten his boot as the sun slowly cleared away the morning mist and the moor started to look more appealing.

"I used to come here when I was younger. I even had some friends. But," he said, then he caught sight of a figure in a blue dress ahead, staring out into a marshier part of the moor, "There's my old friend, Elise. Hello, Elise!"

The young lady ahead of them looked up, startled. Soon, however, she broke into a pleasant smile. "Matthew Baskerville. What a pleasant surprise! And you are?" she asked, turning to Molly.

"This is my friend, Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Elise Stapleton."

"Girlfriend?"

"Um...no. No, not really." Molly said before Matthew could even dare to say otherwise. They were just...close friends.

"Oh. I see." Elise smiled and turned to stare into the mire again.

"What are you looking for?" Molly asked, also redirecting her attention.

"My brother. He likes to collect butterflies out there, on the Grimpen Mire. However, it can be quite dangerous."

"How – "

Before Molly could continue, her question was answered as a pony wandered into the mire. It floundered for a moment or two making some of the most dreadful sounds she had ever heard, and then sank with one final pony scream. It was terrifying. She clutched Matthew's arm and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I would not advise going out there, not to mention that you really shouldn't have come out here to the moor at all. Ah! Here is my brother!"

A young man with light hair, much different than Elise's black hair, came hopping through the mire in some kind of strange dance. When he came up next to her, you could hardly tell they were siblings.

"Hello! You must be Matthew Baskerville. My name is Percival. We are all so sorry about your uncle, by the way." the man said as he held out his hand.

"It's...um...it's alright." Matthew said, grasping the man's hand in greeting, "We were never really close. Um, I don't remember you Percival."

"He just moved in with me. He is having some financial troubles at the moment. But, yes. You didn't know him when we were younger."

"Well, it's certainly nice to be acquainted with you, Percival. Oh, Elise. Did you happen to see my boot anywhere?"

Elise's face flushed, "No, I have not. Sorry."

"Oh. Ok, then. Well, since we're all here, I'm having a Halloween party on Saturday and would love it if you two came."

"Would that be alright with you, Percy?"

Percival looked sceptical for a moment, then consented.

Molly looked back as she and Matthew ambled to the Hall and saw Percival glaring at his sister and then at Matthew's back. She wondered what it all meant.

She was determined to find out, Sherlock style.

**That was a long chapter...You know what I think is kind of funny? The fact that most people write their stories based on the time of the year. Mine's either behind or way ahead. It just makes me laugh. I feel so silly being in a different time of the year.**


	12. Vagabond

**None of my homework is due tomorrow, so I decided to post this chapter.**

Molly woke with a start to the sound of quiet sobbing and tiptoeing down the passage outside her room. Immediately, she got up, grabbed a torch from the bedside drawer and followed, as silently as she could.

The man in front of her walked through the narrow halls and into a dusty room with a window facing a grove of trees on the edge of the lawn. He took his torch and blinked it on and off, then waited. Considering the way he had been blinking his torch, in a fashion similar to Morse code, Molly assumed he was waiting for a reply. Molly stared intently at the man's face. It was the butler's face, and she could barely make out the extremely slight change of shines in his eyes. The butler smiled at the apparent response and stood up to go. However, Molly was in his way.

"Miss Hooper!" the butler cried, "I – I didn't...this is nothing, of course, madam. Just a routine of checking the houselights. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"I'm not stupid, Mr Barrymore. I know a code when I see one. You might as well spill it now. Who are you contacting?"

"No one, madam! Honestly, I – Mr Baskerville!" Matthew had appeared behind Molly. "Oh, dear. I'm terribly sorry to have disturbed you both."

"What's going on, Barrymore?" Matthew asked sternly.

Before the distraught butler could say or deny anything else, his wife had wandered in, sniffling and with a handkerchief in hand.

"He is contacting my brother, sir."

"Your brother?"

"Yes, sir. Please, don't tell anyone. He didn't mean any harm. My brother's just poor and hungry now, so we bring him food and such."

"Well, allow myself and Molly to do the honours for you tonight."

"No! Oh, please, sir, don't hurt him!"

"We won't, Mrs Barrymore. We promise." Molly said in a soothing voice that seemed to calm the old woman ever so slightly.

"Here, Mrs Barrymore. If it makes you feel better, I'll bring him some of my own clothes." Matthew added.

And so, Matthew and Molly stalked carefully to the grove of trees with a bundle of food and clothing.

"Why do you think they were being so secretive about this man?" Molly asked.

"Did you read in the papers? He's most probably the escaped convict."

"Wait, we're bringing these supplies to a convict? What if he tries to hurt us since we're obviously not his relatives?"

"Don't worry," Matthew assured her, "I've brought my gun."

They had now reached the grove of trees and Matthew called quietly for the man, saying that they had brought supplies. They parted the branches to find the resting spot of the man empty except for smouldering ashes where a fire had been. It was quiet now. Too quiet.

Suddenly, there was a crack of a stick breaking behind them. Molly and Matthew turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the convict's face before he turned and sped away across the moor. Matthew took out his gun and was about to fire. Molly grabbed his wrist at the last moment and the bullet just grazed the convict's ankle.

"You can't shoot him!"

"Why not? He's a convict. Now, come on, Molly, he's getting away."

Matthew began in pursuit of his prey. Molly hesitated, then sprinted to catch up with her friend, who had stopped. His hand was clenched tightly around the gun. He sighed.

"You're right, Molly. We promised. Fine, then. But the next time he shows his crazed face around here, I'm not holding back." Matthew brushed past her and fairly stormed back up to the Hall.

Molly looked up, distracted by all that had occurred since she had been in Devonshire when she saw a somewhat familiar figure on a nearby hill. The moon was just behind the figure, so she couldn't see his face, but the sight was eerie and made Molly shiver. She looked back to Matthew and was about to call out to him, but turned back around to make sure she hadn't been seeing things. The figure was gone.

Molly quickly raced back to Baskerville Hall.

**Time Lord Victorious – I'm terribly sorry that I am stealing your ideas. I didn't realize that. Well, unfortunately, I have to continue this particular case to the end, so I hope you will continue to read and enjoy!**

**To the rest of my reviewers – The responses are very encouraging! It's good to know you are enjoying the story! (maybe you might want to tell your friends...hinthint)**


	13. All Hallow's Eve

"It's the Halloween Party! I'm so excited!"

"I could tell." Molly laughed. Matthew sounded just like a little kid, "Are you worried at all?"

"What? No. Why should I be?"

"Well, I don't know. It's Halloween. Doesn't the Hound bother you?"

"Pff. No! That's just silly! But, it's so like you, Molly. It's really nice to know I have someone so kind to look after me."

Before Molly could say anything, the doorbell rang. She looked up at Matthew who suddenly seemed nervous. She knew he had been lying earlier, but why was he nervous? The door opened and Mr Barrymore ushered an array of people inside.

"'Hello, Matthew! How do I look?" the voice of Elise exclaimed as she bounded into view.

"Very nice, my friend." Matthew said, but almost choked, as if he had wanted to say something else. Molly told herself she wasn't jealous. She and Matthew weren't dating or anything. Besides, Elise seemed like a nice girl and she and Matthew had known each other for a while. Molly turned her attention toward the woman's brother.

"Good evening, Percival."

"Good evening, Miss Hooper." he said through clenched teeth. He was glaring at Matthew and his fists were clenched as if he wanted to punch him.

"Please come in." Molly said.

Once everyone had passed them, Molly turned to Matthew. "Who is that woman, there?"

"That is Miss Laura Lyons. She used to be an employee of my uncle. Poor woman's husband left her. See, over there? That's her father. He disapproved of her and didn't send her anything, so my uncle supported her."

"How could you not get along with such a generous man?"

"Well, let's just say Elise and I used to be...more than friends."

Molly wasn't sure what that had to do with anything, but she attempted to dismiss it from her mind. The guests all went into the dining room and Molly soon became distracted, staring at the family portraits on the dining room wall and thinking about the letter from Miss Lyons and how it was connected to the former Baskerville's death.

Suddenly, there was another howl, like the one she had heard the night before and everyone in the room gasped.

"What was that?" Matthew asked.

"Probably just a dog getting himself stuck in the moor. It's actually quite common." Percival explained.

"I'll tell you one thing that isn't common," said a woman's voice, "People lurking about on the moor at night."

"Oh!" said another voice, "Have you seen anyone, Miss Lyons?"

"Yes, indeed. Over by those prehistoric huts."

Before Molly could get even a step closer, everyone was crowded around the woman she wanted to interview. _Well, _Molly thought, _I guess I'll have a look into the man on the moor. I'm sure by the time I finish Miss Lyons won't be as crowded._

Molly pocketed a borrowed revolver and went out.

* * *

Molly was glad the sun hadn't gone down yet. It was certainly getting close to sunset, but not quite. She wasn't entirely sure what she would find out on the moor and it was comforting to know that she would find whatever it was in the light.

Molly searched the hill on which the figure had stood and was afraid it would take some time as there were at least twelve huts to search. Why anyone would want to hide out here was beyond her.

Suddenly, Molly heard a soft step behind her. Or, she thought she did, because when she looked around she didn't see anyone. Molly's breathing and heart beat grew frantic and she began searching faster. There was another step, this time the pursuer haphazardly landed on a stick. Molly rushed into the nearest hut and, extremely fortunately, it was the right one. Molly caught her breath. The belongings in the hut looked very familiar. Too familiar.

"It's lovely out here, Molly. I really think you'll like it much more than in the hut."

**Sorry I didn't post on Friday, I had the play this weekend. It was a revival of Bye Bye Birdie, and it's over now. This week, I'm performing with my choir at EuroDisney, so I might not post this Friday either.**


	14. All Hallow's Eve Part II

"Sherlock!"

"Well, of course. Who else would it be? And I was starting to think your powers of observation worth something. Careful with the revolver." Sherlock said as Molly exited the ancient building.

"Wh – What are you doing here?" Molly asked in disbelief, "I thought you already had a case."

Sherlock sighed, "I thought I did, too. Anyway, it doesn't matter. Being here is much more entertaining."

"I didn't see you. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"That's what most people see when I follow them."

"So." Molly said after she sat next to Sherlock on a nearby rock, "Why did you stay in this hut instead of going to, I don't know, a hotel or something?"

"To keep an eye on you, of course. From here, I can watch the Hall and investigate in the town. Here's what I've figured out..."

"Wait, so my notes...never reached you?"

"Of course they did. They were surprisingly helpful, actually. Oh, and before I forget, Happy Birthday, Molly."

"You...How did you..." Molly stuttered, stunned by the fact that the consulting detective would even go through the trouble of learning that information, "Thank you."

Molly smiled as her blush faded and there seemed to be something of an upward quiver on Sherlock's lips. The sun was setting and it made Sherlock look...healthy? He certainly didn't look pale anymore. In fact, his cheeks looked slightly red. Molly felt something move out from under her hand. She gasped and realized it was Sherlock's hand. What a tactless place to put her hand! Molly blinked and cleared her throat, "S-so, what _did _you figure out"

"Right. First of all, the Stapletons aren't siblings."

"You mean Elise and Percival?"

"Obviously. They're married."

"What?"

"Yes. Now please be quiet. Mr Stapleton, Percival, is from the Baskerville lineage."

"The portraits!"

"What?"

"In the dining room! I thought they looked familiar. It looked like Percival."

"Well, that's why. Anyway, Percival pretended to be Elise's sibling so that he could get Matthew to like her. This was for two reasons. One, so that Miss Lyons would be in communication with Mr Charles Baskerville and, two, so that Matthew would trust Elise when the time came for Percival to let his pet loose. You see, Miss Lyons is Elise's mother."

"But, Mr Charles Baskerville was kind to Miss Lyons. Why would she be in the plot to kill him?"

"Percival would have been next in line for the estate. She wanted the money."

"Oh. Right."

"Why would they need Matthew's trust?" Sherlock asked her. He already knew the answer, but Molly wanted to be helpful. She hoped she wouldn't get the answer wrong.

"So that they could...um. So that Elise could bring him to the trap?"

"Exactly."

"Why did they steal Matthew's boot?"

"I didn't know they stole his boot. Most likely so that Percival could have his scent. You know, so his pet would..."

There was the sound of a baying hound and shortly after, a terrible scream. Sherlock stood.

"Come on, Molly. Let's hope that wasn't our client."

They ran towards the sound, when Molly's foot slipped on a mossy rock and she fell back into Sherlock's reflexive arms. He had a very strong grip and was apparently determined to not let her go.

"Sherlock," she gasped, "It's alright. You can let go now."

Sherlock was certainly surprised at this new emotion. He didn't know what emotion it was, but decided it was somewhere between amiability and affection. Either way, it was a strong emotion. He decided that since Molly had already sensed it, he might as well try to explain this feeling to her before she got confused. He turned Molly around and held her at arms' length.

"Molly," he said, "I have made a resolution not to lose anymore friends at present. It is statistically proven that you could very well die from hitting your head on these rocks."

Molly's mouth hung slightly open. "Wait, so...I-I'm your...friend?"

There was a pause.

"Yes, Molly. Of course you are." he said at last and rushed on towards the scream.

They came upon the body and Molly gasped.

"M-Matthew?" Her eyes began to water and obscure her vision.

"No." Sherlock said. He moved closer and carefully turned the corpse over with his foot.

Molly almost gasped again, "It's Mrs Barrymore's brother."

"The escaped convict."

Before either of them could say anything else, Percival came running up.

"Who is this?"

"We're not sure," Sherlock answered, "He must have been terribly frightened of that howling dog to run to his death like this. Very similar to that of Mr Charles Baskerville, don't you think?"

"Yes." Percival said, suspicion in his eyes, "And who might you be?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes."

**I'm giving up fanfiction for Lent. I'm posting the end of this case, but there might be a **_**bit **_**of a wait after that.**


	15. All Hallow's Eve Part III

"Molly!"

"I'm sure she is fine, Matthew. Now, we really must get back inside. You're guests are getting quite anxious."

"No. I need to find her, Elise."

The two friends continued in the search for Molly Hooper. They found her with a consulting detective and two criminals.

"Molly! Thank goodness you are safe!"

Elise ran up and embraced her. Molly winced as the woman's sharp nails dug into her shoulder.

"Hello, Sherlock."

"Good evening, Matthew."

There was another howl. This time, it was close. Too close. Sherlock turned. He could see it: the glowing hound from Hell, fire dripping from its jaws.

"Run."

_Wait a moment. Sherlock said that this monster is Percival's pet. If Percival can handle it, than it obviously isn't from Hell. What could make it look...phosphorous, I suppose. Either way, it doesn't matter. I can kill it without a silver bullet._

Molly turned to face the creature and Sherlock followed suit.

"Molly, what are you doing?"

"Getting rid of that awful thing!"

Sherlock took out his revolver and the two of them shot, the monster slowed and then, with a final unearthly shriek, it died.

Elise and Matthew ran up.

"What _was _that thing?"

"I'm surprised you don't know, Mrs Stapleton."

"Where is my brother?"

Molly looked at Matthew, who searched for Percival. He pointed toward the Grimpen Mire. "There."

Elise put her hand over her mouth as tears started gliding down her cheeks. Before Sherlock could accuse her of anything, Matthew put his arms around her and led her back to the house.

* * *

"Sherlock?"

It was Molly's voice. Sherlock opened his eyes. Where was he? Wait one moment...he had slept. And without drugs, too. Sherlock sat up and put his hand to his forehead. Oh. That's right. Baskerville Hall. Sherlock looked towards his friend. She looked as if she were about to cry.

"Molly. What's wrong?"

"Th-they're gone. They left this note. I thought you might like to read it."

_Molly, I'm sorry for using you like I did. I had heard that Elise had been engaged and wanted to make her jealous so she would remember how we felt when we were younger. Little did any of us know, except for your friend, Sherlock Holmes, that she was already married to Percival. And so, Elise and I have eloped to Panama. I've told you all this, Molly, because you are my friend. Also, I just wanted to tell you I'm very sorry and don't mistake for a moment that I did not enjoy spending time with you. You are a kind and selfless person, Molly, and I hope you will let this pass and we can remain friends._

_Yours, Matthew Baskerville_

"It's so," Molly sniffed, "It's so pathetic, isn't it? This would be the second time I've done something like this."

"No."

"What?"

"Molly, even _I_ didn't think Matthew would leave. It's completely inconvenient for him to have to travel all that way to Panama. I honestly would have stayed with you instead of Elise any day."

"Really?"

"Of course. You have much better observation skills."

Sherlock's phone beeped. "It's from Irene."

"I thought you had her phone."

"Yes, well, she got it back. Apparently, she had simply forgotten it."

Sherlock showed Molly his phone. "The game has started."

**Two chapters in one day. Man, I'm being way too nice to you. Sorry about the spelling errors in the last one. Not to mention the terrible string of deductions. (note to self: get someone else to write deductions). Well, I hope you like _this_ chapter!**


	16. Scandalous

**Characters in the next few chapters could be similar to real positions in the government and royal lineage, but any similarities between the actual, say, Prince of Wales, and the "Prince of Wales" in the story are merely coincidental.**

Her lips were chapped.

He could tell as she pressed them against his. It felt...nice? He rethought that. There was a flash as he began to realize that, not only did he have no idea where he was, but he didn't even know this foreign woman with whom he was sharing such a passionate form of invading personal space.

* * *

"So, you were grieving about your missing fiancée, she got you a bit tipsy, and then she took this picture?"

"That's about the size of it. You have to help me, Mr Holmes."

"Molly," Sherlock said, suddenly wheeling around to face his comrade, "Why didn't you tell me about the missing princessa before?"

"I didn't hear about it. You really think I'd hold something as ground breaking as that from you? In case you haven't noticed, I was out in the country the past week and was slightly preoccupied with other things."

"Like what?"

"Like wh – Sherlock you were there! We were on a case! Not only that, but I was busy sorting other...emotional proceedings out."

"That's not a good reason..." Sherlock grumbled, but an "ahem" from his client turned him back around, "So sorry, Prince Connor. Please continue."

"Yes, as you have heard, Reina is missing. You need to help me find her before it's too late and you need to stop Miss Adler before she makes that photograph publicized."

There was a noise from downstairs that Sherlock knew, from the metallic click and sound of something light hitting the floor, was the mail slot. He glanced at Molly.

"I'll get it." she said.

Sherlock faced his client again. "This really isn't much of a case, but I will take it. I could use your assistance in gaining details and such. Have you tried bargaining with her?"

"Yes. She won't even listen."

"I see. Have you tried to purchase it from her?"

"She won't sell it. I think she might be using it for something big."

"Obviously. If I had to guess, I'd say she's using it to gain access to the throne or some sort of access into the government. If she had wanted money, she would have accepted your offer. We will have to steal it."

"All right, Mr Holmes. Here is my card if you will _please_ contact me as to how things are getting on."

"Of course. And do you know – "

"Here is the last information I have onto where the lady is staying."

"Thank you very much, Your Majesty. I will contact you as soon as I achieve more information."

And with that, Prince Connor walked out as Molly walked in, a letter in her hand.

Sherlock looked at her expectantly.

"I've already read it." she threw it over to him, "You can read it now."

Sherlock was quiet for a second. Even though he hadn't asked her to read it, he had expected her to do so, as John had the habit of doing. He would have said something to her, but felt it would be slightly unfair. Besides, he _could _read. Sherlock frowned slightly as he took the paper out of the envelope.

It was an invitation to a ball. At Buckingham Palace. November 12.

"I didn't realize they had events in the Buckingham Palace Ballroom. But, I suppose when the Prince is your client," Molly mused, "Are we going?"

Sherlock held the paper up to the light. He studied the handwriting closely.

"Possibly." he said.

* * *

Molly came by the next day to find the house with only Mrs Hudson as an occupant.

"He just popped out for a bit, dear. Would you like some tea while you wait?"

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson. Tea sounds lovely."

Molly didn't have long to wait. At about four o'clock, a dirty man with ill-kempt, ragged clothing came bustling into the room. Molly had never seen Sherlock in a disguise and it took Mrs Hudson's reassurance and three glances to make sure that it was really him. He nodded as he passed them. Molly went upstairs to see him pass through the kitchen and into a room that she suspected to be his bedroom. She sat down in one of the armchairs.

Soon, Sherlock was back out and sitting on the couch, once again tweed-suited and respectable. Then he began to laugh.

Molly was afraid that he had gone mad, which wouldn't be a total surprise, as she watched him. He almost choked and Molly snapped forward. Then he laughed an almost bitter laugh until he was quite out of breath.

"What?" Molly asked.

"It's actually quite funny. I'm sure you have no idea as to what I've been up to this morning."

"I can't imagine. Watching Irene, but I don't see how it could have been remotely funny."

"Well, she has a male visitor and he may be the one with the photograph. I spotted her male visitor today, tall, dark, has a moustache, name is Godfrey Norton. He went into her lodgings, came out flustered and called a cab to St. Monica's. You know, the church. Then Irene came out and did the same. Obviously, I followed them. I was quite surprised when I got there and Mr Norton asked me if I would be a witness to their wedding."

"Sorry, their what?"

"You heard me correctly. That was the funny part."

"I agree, it's pretty funny. Sorry that I'm not laughing. Please continue, what else happened?"

"That was it." Molly sensed some resentment, possibly even anger in his voice. Then she remembered the scene she had walked in on the other day. There was an awkward silence. Sherlock glanced at her for one of the first times that day, "Muffin?" he asked.

"What? Oh." Molly looked down at the banana nut muffin in her hands, "Yes?"

He stared at it for a moment, then looked at her and asked, "You don't mind breaking the law, do you?"

"Not if it means helping you."

Sherlock smiled at his friend. "I thought I could count on you. We'll need to be over at her accommodation by 1900. Oh, and Molly," he continued before she left the room, "No matter what happens to me, you need to promise not to interfere."

Molly hesitated, then nodded.

* * *

It was seven o'clock and Molly was getting anxious. She didn't see Sherlock anywhere and he hadn't sent her any message saying where he was. Usually, he wouldn't have to, but he hadn't even come up to her and said hello. Suddenly, however, there was a low mumble behind her.

She turned to see a plainly dressed civilian with a sort of punk style standing behind her. If he hadn't tilted his sunglasses and shown her his eyes, she would have never guessed who it was.

Yes, his eyes were certainly unique. Piercing grey, whenever he concentrated on anything his gaze was so intense and...unnerving. Molly wondered if this was what had attracted her to Sherlock in the first place. Or, at least made her so nervous around him. Molly shook her head, and when she looked back at Sherlock's face, his sunglasses hid his eyes, the cap on his head hid his hair, and the rest of his outfit so ragged and unlike him even his brother wouldn't be able to tell it was him. England certainly lost a fantastic actor when Sherlock Holmes became a specialist in crime.

"Ok." Sherlock said quietly. Molly couldn't quite hear him, so he bent down closer and whispered into her ear, "The picture is definitely in her lodgings. She doesn't carry it around with her, especially now that she probably wouldn't want her husband to see it, however, she's a woman and she's planning to use the picture soon, so she probably keeps it near her, which means it has to be in her house. Now, the –"

"Don't worry, Sherlock, I believe you," Molly said as a cab pulled up across the street, "Now get going." She turned Sherlock around and nudged him with her elbow.

Molly wasn't entirely sure what started it, but there was a row across the street. It sounded horrible and the men, who seemed to be attempting to get Irene's attention, were hitting each other quite viciously. Suddenly, there was a cry which Molly found was unmistakably Sherlock's. She clenched her fists in an effort not to run over and help him as she saw blood begin to pour down the side of his face. She then felt her cheeks grow warm and something between jealousy and fury rise in her as Irene ushered Sherlock inside.

Molly quickly shook her head and hurried to her position by the window. Thankfully, as was according to plan, she could see Sherlock quite well as he laid on the sofa. A maid came over and opened the window and almost immediately his hand went up as the signal.

Molly threw the plumber's smoke-rocket he had given her into the room and shouted, "Fire!"

Chaos broke out on the street and Molly ran to the corner. Molly looked around frantically for her friend and was afraid she had lost him when his arm was suddenly in hers and they walked swiftly from the scene.

As soon as they were out of sight, Molly removed her arm from Sherlock's and asked, "Do you have the picture?"

"No." he answered, "But I know where it is."

"How?"

"That was the whole point of the operation. When the alarm was given of fire, which you did beautifully well, she reached for her most valued possession of the moment; the photograph."

It was silent for a moment and Molly looked up to inspect Sherlock's wound. As she had expected, it was fake, "I was going to ask if you were hurt, but the blood – "

"Is just paint." Sherlock finished for her.

"Yeah."

**Happy Sunday!**


	17. Inside Job Offer

Molly slept at Baker Street that night as they would have to be up exceedingly early the next morning. She was awoken by the alarm of Sherlock's violin.

Sherlock called Prince Connor and the three of them set out for Irene's housing.

When they arrived, however, she was gone along with the photograph. She had left a rather long message for Sherlock, pure gloating, and a photograph of herself. The prince let Sherlock keep it, hoping that it might help him later in the investigation.

"Well," Sherlock said as he and Molly parted from the prince and made their way back to Baker Street, "I suppose I should have suspected as much, especially since she's working with Moriarty."

Molly nodded when she spotted something. She tugged lightly on Sherlock's arm. "Are you up for some lunch?"

Sherlock looked blankly at her, then at the direction she was staring.

"I would love some, actually." he said.

* * *

"Since when did you have such an obsession with muffins?" Sherlock asked. Molly nibbled on the banana nut muffin in her hands.

"I've always liked muffins."

"Oh. Hm. I guess I just..."

"I haven't had the chance to eat them lately." Molly said, acting as if Sherlock hadn't said a thing, and shrugged. "This place sells good muffins. Would you like to try some?"

"No, thank you. I prefer blueberry anyway."

"I wasn't aware that you had ever eaten muffins, let alone had a preference."

"I've eaten many things. When I was younger and didn't realize how dangerous food can be."

Sherlock then turned and gazed out the window, deducing things about the passersby. He quickly turned back around when he sensed someone's presence next to him.

"Hello, Sherlock. Miss Hooper. Would you mind terribly if I joined you?"

"Possibly," Sherlock grumbled. The two of them had seen him come in, but Sherlock still hadn't wanted to see him. He had been hoping to catch part of Mycroft's conversation from farther away as oppose to having him actually come to their table.

"No, not at all." Molly said.

"So," Sherlock asked as he studied his brother, "How's the weight?"

"Perfectly sound."

"Hm. Well, don't go ruining your diet here."

"I wasn't planning to. As a matter of fact - "

"You just had lunch with Anthea."

"Yes. Good job. Now, I've come to ask if you two were going to the ball on November the twelfth."

"Perhaps."

"Well, I strongly advise that you do. I understand that a Prince Connor has requested your assistance. You've taken his case, yes?"

"It's really none of your business."

"Of course it is. As you are so fond of saying, I am the British government."

"Get to the point, Mycroft."

"We have suspicions that Princessa Reina was captured by the civilian co-host. His name, if you remember, is – "

"Sebastian Moran."

"Right. I need you to find out if our suspicions are true or not. It will most likely help you with your current case. Try to be helpful. I'm sure mother would have been thankful for it."

And with that, Mycroft got up and left the café, swinging his umbrella in a circular pattern behind him. Molly opened the envelope he had put on the table and two ear buds fell into her palm.

"I suspect we'll need to wear these. Are we going?"

"Of course. I was planning to go before he asked. I suspect we will know more people there than we thought."

**Thank you for the reviews!**

**Also, I don't know why I made the princess...Italian or whatever she is. I just wanted to call her princessa! I'm not sure what co-host is, but Sebastian is helping to host the ball and he has Reina, in case you didn't catch that.**


	18. Armistice Day

"Sherlock?" Molly called. The flat was unexpectedly quiet. "Sherlock?" she called again, walking tentatively up the stairs.

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his knees drawn up to his chest. He had a bright orange blanket around his shoulders and was staring at a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him.

"Sherlock? Are you okay?" Molly asked. She was silent and didn't say anything, waiting for Sherlock to speak.

He stared at the mug of tea.

"Did something happen?" Molly whispered, placing her shopping bag on the floor and hesitantly stepping forward. She didn't let herself step any closer than was necessary.

Sherlock glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He turned back to his mug of tea that was continuing to grow cold.

Then, finally, he spoke, "John said last Armistice Day that he wanted to be sure to celebrate it. I don't particularly remember if he got to or not, but I was just thinking that, since he isn't here, I might as well celebrate it for him." Sherlock looked as if he was about to say something else, but he decided to chew on his lip instead, deeper in thought.

_Or perhaps, _Molly contemplated, _His thought is so close to the surface, he can hardly keep it in. That must be a strange feeling for him._

Sherlock stared at Molly's toes, then scanned upwards slowly, as if cataloguing every detail, until he met her eyes with his. Molly involuntarily shivered.

"Would you like to sit down?" Sherlock asked.

Molly crossed to a chair when Sherlock stopped her and motioned to the other cushion on the couch. Molly sat and drew her knees up as well, making doubly sure that she didn't touch Sherlock.

"I hope," Sherlock began, "That is, if John...isn't here next Armistice Day, will you come remember it with me?"

Molly turned her head towards Sherlock, her hands clenching together more tightly around her legs. When she didn't say anything, Sherlock looked at her, almost helplessly. Or as helpless Sherlock could remotely seem. It made Molly want to cry. She had never seen anyone look so...Or maybe she had. But, this was different. This was Sherlock. And Sherlock didn't feel emotions. Molly wasn't sure how much of a broken Sherlock she could take, considering how shattered she herself was. She was very, very tempted to reach out and give him a hug or a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. But, she resisted. She had to. Who knew how Sherlock would react to something so emotional as physical contact.

"Yes, Sherlock." She said, her voice cracking slightly, "Yes, I will."

**A short chapter that I felt I should make. In honour of Catherine Spark, for being a great author and correspondent. I kind of got the idea from her story... It's not even November. I'm so out of date...**


	19. Ballroom Dancing

"Do you know how to dance?" Molly asked Sherlock. Even thought he was dressed in a suit akin to his usual style, Sherlock seemed very awkward. Molly was wearing a simple, light, yellow dress, very much in contrast to that of her accomplice. She gazed eagerly up at him.

_Of course I know how to dance, _Sherlock thought, _how hard could it possibly be?_

He didn't say it out loud until he had thoroughly examined the movements of the dancers. As soon as he did say it, Molly grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the dance floor.

"Molly," he said, "This isn't going to help us find Reina."

"Well, I thought we would look more inconspicuous if we were actually engaging in the social activity. Don't worry; it will only be this one."

Sherlock sighed and almost tripped on a tall, blonde woman's aquamarine dress. _Her dress doesn't match her eyes at all. In fact, it makes her look quite ugly. Well, I suppose that's what you get for hand-me-downs from your model half sister._

"You don't really know how to dance, do you?"

Sherlock didn't say anything but allowed Molly to take some form of lead. She was actually quite good at this dance (the waltz, as she had notified him). Good enough to make it seem like the boy was leading even when he wasn't. Which, in most cases, would have saved the boy from being a social outcast. Not that this mattered to Sherlock in the least.

"How did you learn to dance like this?"

"Well, my father taught me and I taught my friends. None of us were ever asked to dance. We usually danced with each other or by ourselves. So, I thought that if we actually knew a sophisticated dance, it would make us look a little...better."

"You danced by yourself?"

"Of course. I suppose it was to keep up the illusion that I really had someone than to face the reality of having no one."

Molly held up their clasped hands so that, as Sherlock quickly observed, he could spin her.

Sherlock wasn't sure what was so mesmerizing by it, but whether it was Molly or her dress or the colours or the music, he was transfixed. He focused on her dress; the way it swirled in something relatively akin to a circle, but not quite. Actually, not even close. He wondered what the circumference would be and then decided to switch his thinking to chemistry, as he continued to remind himself that it most certainly was _not _a circle. It looked like the way an electron moved. Yes, that was exactly what it looked like. And it took his breath away.

Then, suddenly, the spinning was over.

Sherlock blinked, then concentrated on the people around him.

"Let's go onto the veranda." he said as the music ended. Molly knew that the look on his face meant he was onto something. Considering how set and determined it was, she figured he had spotted their adversary. She absent mindedly wondered why he had bothered to say anything, since he could have just dragged her onto the veranda without saying a word. _I suppose this is meant to be an approving gesture of my idea to be unobtrusive. _

Suddenly, the two were out on the veranda with a woman that both of them recognized.

"Oh, good," said the American, "You did decide to come after all."

* * *

"Hello, Irene."

"Hello, Sherlock. It's so nice to see you." She advanced toward him, but Molly blocked her way. "What's this? Sherlock, do you have a little mouse protecting you now? The dog was reasonable, but this is just ridiculous."

She continued walking forward. Molly stepped up to greet her.

"Really, sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt him – "

"It doesn't matter." Molly interjected, "We aren't here for a social visit."

"She's right, Miss Adler. Or should I say Mrs Norton." Sherlock said as he positioned himself beside Molly.

Before he could continue, Irene started laughing, almost hysterically. "You honestly think I went and got married for no reason whatsoever? I did it specifically because I knew you were following me. Besides, we did need a lawyer on our side."

"I certainly hope you weren't trying to make me jealous or anything of the sort," Sherlock replied, "Because it didn't work."

"That's fine. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, Sherlock, I'm not_ really_ married."

She held up her left hand to show a ringless finger.

"Well," Sherlock answered, "I wouldn't really expect you to wear a ring anyway. Not to mention that you change husbands so often, the ring would hardly even leave a mark."

Suddenly, the late Irene Norton, who was once again Irene Adler, or rather _still_ Irene Adler, because she hadn't really been Irene Norton in the first place, was pointing a gun at Sherlock's chest. "Sorry, Sherlock. But that wasn't funny. I was hired to stop you, so don't expect me to be giving you any sort of photograph anytime soon."

"I don't think you have a choice." Molly said as she raised her own handgun and pointed it at Irene.

Mycroft's voice came from Sherlock's ear bud, "We've found Reina. Keep Irene distracted."

_Dammit_, Sherlock thought, _they actually cracked the case without me. All because of Irene bloody Adler. Well, I suppose this really hasn't been a case. I knew who was behind it the whole time and what he...they were planning to do. This is more of a rescue mission. _Wow. _Mycroft made me assist in a rescue mission. How _dull.

Sherlock turned a fixed gaze on his most abhorred female enemy.

"You won't really shoot me." he said, "You don't have what it takes."

"Want me to prove it?" She cocked the gun.

"I'm certain the man that you're working for won't be pleased if he isn't the one to kill me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Even if he is, this would be a most inopportune time. Everyone in that ballroom would notice if no one has already. Now, hand over the picture. You can't achieve anything with it now."

"What do you – "

There was a static sound from behind them as a microphone was turned on. Lestrade's voice came out. _I didn't realize he worked for my brother. Just this once most probably._

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an important announcement to make." Lestrade said, "As I'm sure you all know, this is an engagement ball. You might have been wondering, 'For whom?' Well, we would love to get his Royal Highness up here to tell you himself."

Irene's face had fallen and she looked quite pale. "How the hell - "

"We have our ways."

There was a gun shot. Two triggers had been pulled, but only one hit its mark. Sherlock flinched, but nothing hit him.

Molly's hand was shaking.

Sherlock's eyes widened as he stared at Irene's dead body. "Molly." he said, quite calmly, not looking away from the beautiful corpse, "Get out of here. Take your gun with you."

Gasping for breath and almost in shock, Molly obliged.

In the next instant, Lestrade, Mycroft, and Donovan were out on the terrace.

"What the hell did you do, Sherlock? Now we'll have to tell all of London the story!" Lestrade yelled.

Sherlock didn't say anything.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade said quieter, "Someone get a shock blanket. Sally, get a blanket."

Mycroft walked up to his brother. "I'll cover it up."

Sherlock took a glance at him.

"All of it. Molly, too."

Sherlock felt something in him lift. Relief? He wasn't sure. Sherlock thought he might actually be thankful to his brother, but he didn't say anything.

He just kept staring straight ahead.

* * *

A week later, Sherlock and Molly had not had very much correspondence. The case had been cleared up, as promised. Molly had not been convicted of anything. As far as the public new, Irene Adler was a jealous lover of Sherlock's whose gun had backfired. Sherlock didn't particularly like the story, but at least Molly was let off.


	20. Psychopath

Sherlock was standing on a rooftop, high above the streets of London. He was tired of waiting.

He shifted so his feet were just sticking off the edge. It was nice up here with the wind blowing through his hair. Normally, the detective wouldn't notice such trivial, idealistic things, but he was bored.

A door that led to the roof opened behind him.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?"

Without turning, without even moving, Sherlock said, "Go back down, Molly. You shouldn't be here."

"No."

"Trust me; I know what I'm doing. Now go."

"I'm not leaving."

"Molly, you don't understand. I do not want you here."

There was a small inhalation of breath from Molly. Sherlock still did not turn.

As if checking herself, Molly continued, "Come down, Sherlock. Your brother told me to get you."

Sherlock scoffed, "As if I care what my brother says."

"Sherlock, you're about to take your own life!"

"It's true, Sherlock. You really should listen to her." a new yet familiar voice said.

Sherlock slowly stepped away from the edge.

"It's about time you showed up." he said.

"That was a bold move. You're lucky I understand boredom or you might have actually killed yourself."

"I knew exactly what you would do."

Molly was completely dumbstruck. Where had he come from? She clenched her fists.

"Molly," Sherlock said, "I have it under control. Please go down."

Before either of the men could do anything else, she rushed at the newcomer, a hint of bloodlust in her eyes.

A shot rang out.

Molly doubled over and fell to the ground.

Sherlock didn't move for a moment, suspicious that if he said or did anything out of his normal character Moriarty would find some way to use it against him. This thought vanished almost immediately and he rushed to his friend's side. _Minimal damage, I think. It only hit her diaphragm, which means it isn't fatal, right? John would know. _Sherlock reached down and grasped Molly's hand. Moriarty's taunting voice sang out from behind him, "Bad move! I believe I've got you there, Sherlock. Didn't think you'd have an ounce of caring for this worthless nobody. I really don't know why I even went so far as to actually _date_ her. Not that it wasn't fun, Molly dear, but – "

"You bastard." Sherlock's quiet but firm voice cut him off.

"Oh. Getting defensive, now are we?"

Sherlock stood and turned to face him, "Did you know that when you left her, Molly had her house ransacked by a whole squadron of police? Did you know that she had to go back to work and people pitied her for something that they couldn't even come close to comprehending? Did you know that you left Molly completely alone and rejected and misunderstood, and for what? Why would you do something so evil? How could you be so heartless as to use her that way? As to tricking her into believing that you actually cared for her, that you were the one person who even so much as acknowledged her existence? How could you act so kind to her only to have her realize that you are undoubtedly the vilest thing that ever walked the earth? If your motive was merely to get at me, why didn't you just become friends with her and nothing else? You never deserved her and she certainly didn't deserve anyone as horrible as you."

"I don't think I have ever heard you ask so many questions, Sherlock dear. Yes, I knew all of those things," Moriarty continued, ticking his answers off with his fingers, " Obviously I used her to get at you, I decided to enjoy myself while I was doing it, it's always fun to crush people's hearts, and I do believe you could ask yourself a lot of the same questions." Jim Moriarty grinned malevolently and switched his train of thought, strutting as he did so, "We're not that different, you and I. I think that's what attracted Molly to us and, after this whole emotional fiasco, made her apprehensive. There is only one real difference, and that is the fact that you have a heart and I don't."

"Now," he continued after a pause, "You didn't come up here and risk your life just so I could shoot Molly as neither of us had intended her to be up here."

Sherlock glanced at Molly, if only for a second, then turned to his adversary. He found himself speechless. He suddenly felt very...human. Sherlock didn't like feeling human, and he was incredibly surprised how quickly he adapted to the new feeling. Perhaps it had been consuming him for some time now, growing from something inside him that he hadn't even realised was there into what he was now feeling. Either way, he couldn't very well continue with this pointless mission now that his friend had been hurt, therefore hurting him.

He and Moriarty had been bored. That was it. That was why Sherlock had climbed to the very top of the building and almost plummeted to his death, without even considering any consequences. If he lived, then people would move on as if nothing had happened, at least that's what Sherlock thought they would do if they would only think more logically, more apathetically. Like him. If he had died, the consequences wouldn't matter to him because he would be dead.

How horribly, disgustingly egocentric. This round of the game hadn't even been particularly fun.

Moriarty was rocking back and forth on his heels, enjoying Sherlock's new comprehension. He was grinning when Sherlock looked up. _Surely, _Sherlock thought, _I can't be as heartless as _him. _Surely there has to be more of a difference between us. I don't think I'd mind feeling human if it means I'm not like him._

"I do believe, Moriarty," Sherlock said at last, with another revelation, "That you are the only person in the world to be born completely heartless. I think it might come as a surprise to you when your comrades begin to leave."

"Well, they're all heartless bastards, too."

"But not as heartless as you, if you would like to keep the title, as I do believe you are the only person in the world who could possibly hold it. They'll all leave eventually or I'll get you before that."

"Hm. Have fun with that. Try not to kill yourself while I'm away or you'll most certainly never be able to catch me."

"That's another difference between us, _Jim. _I have friends, like normal people. People _care _about me. _No one_ cares about you."

Jim's shoulders tensed, "You keep telling yourself that, Sherlock. If you continue being a heartless bastard like me, all of _your_ 'friends' will leave, too."

And with that, he was gone.

Sherlock paused for a moment or two, making sure Jim Moriarty was really truly gone and not planning to come back with any snipers, then ran over to Molly.

"Molly," he almost whispered, "You're going to be alright."

"I'm sorry." he added.

"Really?" her voice was so...weak. Like the former Molly had been. Sherlock had been proud of her progress on becoming stronger and it was saddening to see how easily that progress could be destroyed.

"Yes. Yes, Molly, I'm so sorry. I admit it, I was wrong to treat you so horribly. John's tried to tell me so often, but I never listened. And it's not that I didn't – "

"Sherlock." she interrupted, "It's okay. I forgive you."

Sherlock smiled at his friend. She was so kind and selfless and good. Usually, Sherlock would classify this as dull, but Molly was different somehow. After all, she did have some kinks. For instance, she still kept a completely sunny disposition while working in a mortuary and, now that she had finally found the strength to change, he had incredibly underestimated her medical and social skills. Sherlock very much liked his friend. She stuck with him no matter what. Sherlock was actually surprised that she hadn't left him yet, he was such, well, a jerk to her. He shook his head and Molly put her hand to his cheek. She brushed away a tear with her thumb.

Sherlock's smile faded slightly. He placed his hand over Molly's, then took out his phone to call an ambulance.


	21. ICU

It had been considerably dark and dull for a time. It was a period of nothingness where nothing happened. No one mattered because there was no one, it was just...nothing.

Then a light came into view. Her eyes adjusted fairly quickly as if from a nice, good sleep as oppose to being woken up in the morning by someone shining a bright torch in your face like her brother used to do. If her eyes hadn't adjusted so quickly, she might have thought she was going to the afterlife. But they had adjusted quickly, which was fine because she wasn't sure she wanted to go to heaven just yet anyhow.

A hospital room. A hospital trolley. A hospital issued robe. A hospital IV in her arm. She wondered if she had undergone an operation.

Molly felt something twitch in her hand. She tilted her head and saw that it was another hand.

Sherlock's hand.

What was it doing in her hand? Molly decided that she didn't want his hand there if it didn't mean anything, which it surely didn't. She tried to remove her own hand from its grasp, but Sherlock's grip was too tight. As a matter of fact, it tightened. Sherlock suddenly opened his eyes and his gaze fell upon the two hands. He blinked, then hurriedly removed his hand from the interlock.

"The doctor said that physical contact would help you recover faster." he said as he cleared his throat, "It would have been an inconvenience if you were to be hospitalized longer than necessary."

Molly wasn't listening. She was staring out the window. It was sunrise, which was nice because that meant she didn't have to go to sleep anytime soon. She wasn't tired.

"Molly?"

"He's still out there, isn't he?"

It was silent for a minute, the gravity of the statement weighing on the air. Because, after all, it really hadn't been a question. At least not one that needed an answer. They both knew.

"Yes." Sherlock answered it anyway.

Molly felt a tear slide down her cheek. She brushed it away angrily. _If John had been there, he and Sherlock would have definitely caught Moriarty. I just made everything worse. I was simply in the way._

"Molly, just because Moriarty got away doesn't mean you were useless. Trust me, if it had been John, we still probably wouldn't have captured him."

"Sherlock..." Molly whispered. She would have asked how he had read her thought process, but decided better of it as a lump formed in her throat and the tears started falling.

Sherlock wasn't sure what to do or say. It wasn't a full out sob; more like one of those silent hand-in-front-of-the-mouth cries. Which meant that Molly was trying to hold the tears back. She was trying to be strong.

"It-it's alright," Sherlock said at last, which seemed about what most people would say to the scenario, "It's going to be alright. We _will_ get him eventually." He put his hand on her shoulder, "I promise."

Molly's tear stained face stared blankly at Sherlock for a moment, then her arms were around his neck, as if she was about to _have_ a full out sob. She didn't have one, which was good because Sherlock wouldn't have known what to do. Sherlock patted Molly hesitantly on the back. He was considering putting his arms fully around her when she spoke.

"Sherlock, I..." But before she could continue, Sherlock shoved her off and back onto the hospital bed, his cheeks inexplicably rose tinted. It had been slightly too much physical contact for the sociopath.

"No." he said, "You don't."

"You can't argue with emotions, Sherlock."

"But you _can_ argue that you're being impractical and childish."

"Fine, then. But there are people out there who love you, Sherlock. Like John."

Sherlock started, "John's - ?"

"No! No, his is more like brotherly love."

Sherlock seemed a bit more relaxed, but then continued, "Well, then he shouldn't, the idiot."

"That's what you don't seem to understand, Sherlock. People love you for being you. _I _love you for being you. I know you don't think it's possible for anyone to love you as yourself, but believe me, people do. You are an incredible person, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then said, "People shouldn't love me, though. I'm merely an asset. I've programmed myself specifically for that. And if anybody tries to have any other sort of 'relationship' with me, it won't work. I'll end up being annoying and disappointing."

"Yes, that's certainly true. But neither me, nor John, nor Mrs Hudson, nor your brother has left you because of that."

"Why?"

"Because we care about you."

"No, you really don't. You're just worried about me. You need me, so you help me to stay stable."

"But that's exactly it, Sherlock. We need you. We're worried about you because we need you. And we need you for more than just solving crimes. We need you because you're our friend."

"By the way," Molly said after a pause, "What day is it?"

"The twentieth of December." Sherlock blinked. "I'll be right back." he said.

Molly was surprised as she watched him leave. She wondered what he was doing.

He didn't come back as soon as expected. Molly had doubts that he would come back at all. Perhaps she had reminded him of a case, or said something that had somehow caused him to come to an epiphany. Either way, she was bored.

She didn't have anything to do now. No one else would visit her. Meena had already visited as shown by the Christmas card on the bedside table. No doctors or nurses came in. Molly was reduced to picking lint off of the bed sheet. Even this only lasted for a minute because it was a hospital, so there wasn't much lint. Molly sighed. Her head fell back onto her pillow. Then, the door opened _Finally!_ Molly shot up, "You're back!" she said, a little too excited.

Sherlock stared at her for a moment, "I was only gone for a few minutes."

Molly blushed, "Hospital rooms are boring."

"I know the feeling." Sherlock answered. He then sniffed as he produced a banana nut muffin from behind his back. "Merry Christmas, Molly."

**Hello to all of my continuous readers/reviewers who are still reading and reviewing my story! Just got back from a trip to Spain. It was lovely! Continue to R&R! I love ya'll!**


	22. Surprise!

Sherlock and Sarah were blindfolded, but they knew where they were going. The blindfolds would have been completely unnecessary except that the person pushing them forward was giving them a surprise.

"Ok." said the female voice, "You can take them off now."

The brightness of the Christmas decorations distracted them for a moment. They couldn't see anything out of the ordinary in the living room of 221B. The surprise left them speechless as it came out of the kitchen. It was better than anything they could have imagined.

"John." Sarah breathed, then louder, "John!"

She ran up to him and embraced him. Sherlock hesitated, as he thought it would be quite exasperating for John to have two of his friends crowding him at once. John looked in Sherlock's direction as if to say, "No. Come over. You're my best friend, so it's fine."

So he did.

This time, Sherlock said a much better hello and actually gave John a hug. Both of them were a bit startled at first, and Molly, who had arranged the surprise, stifled a giggle behind them. Sherlock felt his cheeks lighten and his lips go up. This must be what one calls a smile. Not that he hadn't smiled before, he just didn't smile often and when he did the smiles weren't the same. This smile came from inside and just sort of emanated out through his mouth. Wow, that sounded awkward. The holiday cheer was really getting to him. Yes, it must have been from all of the decorations that Molly and Mrs Hudson had put up and the Christmas tree and the smells wafting from Mrs Hudson's kitchen from foods that Mycroft would just be dying to eat and the warmth of the atmosphere. For such a cold time of year, Christmas had a very warm feeling to it. Just like John's cuddly jumper. Sherlock's smile grew slightly as he inhaled the sorely missed smell of John and his jumper. This was a new jumper, made with more wool and less polyester, but it already smelled like John. Sherlock's smile didn't fade as he released his friend, almost like a happy stain, and he said, "It's good to have you back, John."

"It's good to be back." John answered. And he was smiling too, that familiar, warm, kind smile that only John Watson could smile.

* * *

Molly crept downstairs to leave the trio with their happy reunion. Everything was going to go back to the way it had been. Which was fine by her. She didn't belong there anyway. Maybe, though, Sherlock would still consider them friends when he came to the morgue instead of treating her like she was nothing.

Molly sighed and pushed the thought from her mind. No, they weren't really friends. They had never really been friends.

"Molly?"

She turned to see Sherlock standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Come upstairs. Really, we don't mind."

"Who sent you down?" Molly asked.

"No one. But I'm sure John won't mind if you come back up. If anything, he's appreciated your help more than I have."

Molly paused. "No, thank you."

"Well, then, I wanted to make sure you knew how much I...um...how much I am grateful to you for...doing what you did. For sticking with me."

Molly walked up to the tall, dark haired man and looked into his eyes. She could see something there. Something...sincere. He actually seemed kind of nervous, as if he was afraid that he had said something wrong. Molly grinned at him. She still didn't believe him, but she thought it would be rude to leave without saying goodbye. She was just about to tell Sherlock the "new rules"; that he needed to stop using her because she would help him of her own desire, that he needed to stop lying and giving her false compliments, that he needed to leave her alone in general, that all he needed to do was ask politely and she'd be fine helping him; when he said, "I said sorry." He hesitated and seemed almost nervous before he continued, "You are my friend, Molly. I trust you. More than almost anyone. Why do you think I come to you all the time at the mortuary? You're the only person I would and will ever go to. I don't know what I would do without you. And the compliments, although they were for personal gain, were always sincere. Just please..." Sherlock's speech faltered and he hesitantly took a step forward.

Molly blinked, all thoughts of a lecture gone. It had just been gravity, right?

Well, gravity forced Sherlock to come slightly closer, and Molly, in a sudden phase of thoughtlessness, put her arms around him.

_There go any plans of explaining myself,_ she thought, _I'm still in the same trap I started in._

Molly rethought her thought as Sherlock returned her embrace, reluctant but firm. "Don't leave." he whispered.

Molly knew what he really meant to say, even if he himself wasn't sure how to say it exactly, or even how to say it at all. The embrace really hit home for Molly, much more than his previous speech. It meant that she really was his friend and that she wasn't allowed to leave until she realized that. Until she realized that he cared about her and things _were_ going to be a bit different now and that he really was sorry.

It was real.

"Coo coo."

The two of them broke apart faster than lightning as Mrs Hudson walked in, a freshly baked Christmas cake on a plate in her hands. "Do you want me to act like I didn't see that?"

"That would be nice, yes."

The three of them walked upstairs.

* * *

Where Sarah and John had deftly hung a sprig of some form of holiday plant on the ceiling.

Sherlock stared at it, then at his friends faces. John and Sarah were grinning like children and Molly was blushing the colour of a rose.

He didn't get it. "It's mistletoe." he said. He could tell a plant from another one, if that was what this was about.

John's face fell slightly.

For explanation, it was Molly who spoke. "Yes. And it's a Christmas tradition that when two people are under it, they're supposed to kiss."

Oh.

Sherlock felt something stir inside him. He had absolutely no idea what it was, but he glanced at Molly and knew that whatever it was, it was about her. He paused and thought about it, thought about what exactly this emotion (yes, it _was_ an emotion) was telling him. He was never one to follow his heart, but he had no reason not to at the moment. He'd never felt this way about anyone before. And besides, at the exact moment, he was inside his own flat with people he knew, no one was in danger, he wasn't on a case, he was just sort of...living in the moment. Strange, usually his mind was preoccupied deducing people's pasts or thinking about what an enemy might logically do in the future.

"You can just kiss me on the cheek." Molly's voice brought Sherlock back to reality and the present moment.

"Oh, come on! That's cheating!" John said.

Molly stuck her tongue out at him and Sarah laughed.

Sherlock turned Molly to face him, "I wouldn't want to cheat, Molly."

He cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers. It was a strange sensation, to say the least, but it ended in rapture.

Sherlock wondered why he had done that. This was going to give Molly all sorts of ideas. Not that he didn't enjoy it, the sensation was much better than...well, he was going to say Irene, but there were quite a lot of things that were better than Irene, and really he couldn't remember ever feeling like this. _Perhaps, _thought his most inward self, _I don't mind going this far._ Then his brain actually shut down for a moment or two and he was left in perfect bliss.

Molly had been startled at first and almost thought that he was taking it a bit too far. After the initial shock, however, Molly decided that Sherlock really meant this because he had no reason to be lying and besides, they were friends. Now, possibly, more than friends. Then, Molly's brain quickly short-circuited and all she knew was that she was kissing Sherlock Holmes, _the_ Sherlock Holmes who was now officially her friend. Molly put her arms round his neck, closed her eyes, and returned the kiss with enough force to push him backwards. Sherlock staggered slightly, then placed his arms firmly around Molly and pulled her close.

And the sight of it was _very_ awkward. Molly was so short and, well, it was _Sherlock. _Although John had tenuously asked for it, he hadn't expected Sherlock to actually _kiss_ her. Sarah and Mrs Hudson were females and slight romantics, so they didn't find it awkward in the least. In fact, they thought it rather cute. Sherlock would have said that it was a puerile, romantic word and not at all descriptive of the circumstance.

_Although, at the same time, _thought John as he watched his friend in this newfound contentment,_ it's a comforting awkwardness_.

_Because it shows that Sherlock has a heart to burn after all._

~The End~

**Or is it? I might be adding an epilogue or two... **

"**So, Mother, earlier I was saying that [today] is a pretty big day and you didn't really respond, so I'm just going to tell you; It's my birthday! Tada!" (Rapunzel)**

**I am sixteen today everyone! I am able to drink freely of alcohol in this fantastic European country in which I live. I love their drinking and driving ages! They make so much sense! I don't see why everyone doesn't use them! (16-drinking, 18-driving)**


	23. Epilogue

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were sitting in a café.

The café was in Switzerland.

And, no, it wasn't simply because John wanted to see the sights, nor was it because there was a specific crime in Switzerland.

They were being followed.

Sherlock's phone beeped. He unlocked it.

_Sherlock – M_

"That could be from anyone." John said.

Sherlock pointed to the caller ID. It was from Molly. "But, you have a point." Sherlock told John, "Just to be sure."

_Molly – SH_

_Are you sure? – M_

_Using another voice, then? – SH_

_An old one, actually – M_

"Poor Molly." John whispered. Sherlock's hand was shaking ever so slightly. "I'm sure she'll be fine, John."

_What do you want? – SH_

_I'm just checking on you. Checking on where you are. – M_

_I'm not even going to ask. – SH_

_Probably a good idea. – M_

_That wasn't a complete sentence. – SH_

_Hm. It's texting. It doesn't have to be a complete sentence. – M_

There was a pause.

"You're not going to text back?" John asked.

"Why should I? He's being completely childish."

"What about Molly?"

Sherlock's phone beeped again.

_He will meet you at the fall. – M_

"What's that supposed to mean?" John asked.

"I guess we'll find out." Sherlock answered.

**I found my epilogue! This is not how I think the series will go. At all, really. Although, it would be nice if something happened between Molly and Sherlock (my favourite Sherlolly is **_**Such Intrusions **_**by speck211 and it seems fairly plausible, although it tends to be less realistic at chapter 5). Well, that's all for this story. I ended up including all of the clues given to us by the directors (not intended at first, but it worked out). **

**I hope this was relatively believable, as I know **_**I**_** can't stand fantastical fan fiction. Hopefully I will be writing more soon! Thank you all for the encouraging reviews that kept me going!**

**This is kind of random, but it seems people have skipped Chapter 18. I just thought you might want to know of its existance becaue I rather like that little chapter.**


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